


Fight Another Day

by gymwrites



Category: Gymnastics RPF
Genre: F/F, One Shot, Prompt Fic, raistafina
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-30 01:09:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8512951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gymwrites/pseuds/gymwrites
Summary: Aliya Mustafina helps Aly Raisman deal with the fallout of the US election.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a flight of fancy that turned into a one shot fic therapy for Raistafina shippers who happen to be devastated by today's events. Best avoided if you like Trump.

“Oh. My. Fucking. God.”

Aly’s shaken voice barely makes it past the two hands pressed tightly to her mouth in shock. Her knees are bunched up to her chest, the painful thudding of her heart providing a stunned soundtrack to the evening’s distressing turn of events. The lush, three-seater lounge she’s sharing with Aliya feels like it’s burning up in flames - and not for the usual reason.

“Aly? Chto eto?” Aliya quickly fits in one more page of Solzhenitsyn’s classic,  _One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich_ , before placing it face-down on her stomach. The Russian is lying on her back, legs stretched out over some pillows, head rested comfortably against the top of Aly’s leg. She glances upwards, her large eyes scanning the girl’s face from under long, satin eyelashes.

At first, Aly doesn’t answer in words. She doesn’t have to. The numb, horrified look she shoots back at Aliya says it all.

“He won. He… _won_.” Her almost-tearful words come out distant, disbelieving.

Aliya flicks her eyes towards the blaring TV screen Aly has been glued to all day. Large words crawl across it, some she recognizes, some not, but the general gist is clear: A new era has dawned on American politics. 

 _Hardly surprising,_ Aliya thinks to herself, though sensitive enough to Aly’s shell-shocked condition not to voice it out loud. Compared to what goes down in Russian politics, the crowning of this orange baby man as President is a drop in the bucket. Still, Aliya sits up and casts her well-read book to one side. She wraps a slender arm around Aly’s neck, gently placing a chin on her shoulder. Aliya gives the person she loves more than life itself her full, undivided attention.

“Tell me what thinking you have.”

Aly slowly shakes her head, as if trying to clear a haze that refuses to lift. Normally, the sensation of Aliya’s warm, lavender-scented skin so close to her would already have sent her into a feverish state. But tonight, an unexpected emotion is overriding everything else: Fear.

“I thought… I thought we were better than that. I honestly thought she had it in the bag. I mean for God’s sake,” Aly motions at the lonely, unopened bottle of champagne on the coffee table, “I came prepared!”

“Have in bag?”

“Like it was for certain going to happen.”

“Aly, nothing in world is certain.” As Aliya speaks, she runs a finger lightly up and down the length of Aly’s bare arm, each time spending a few more moments to trace her rounded bicep. “I not certain when meet you, you are not annoying American.”

Aly turns to make a face at Aliya. “My country and I are absolutely destroyed, and you’re making fun of me.”

“You Americans like drama. You watch always the show with many girls, one ugly boy, some roses. This,” Aliya nods her head pointedly towards the despairing faces on TV, “not good drama?”

“Okay yes I like trashy reality shows… but _this_  kind of drama is way too real. People’s lives are at stake!” Aly tries to regulate the panic raising her voice by several pitches.

“And this…?” Aliya murmurs, leaning in closer to the distraught girl to start a trail of lingering kisses up her neck. She smiles against Aly’s skin when she feels her respond with an involuntary shiver. “Russians best at making good drama.”

“Aliya…”

The kisses grow more insistent, red marks indicating where the Russian has come and conquered. Aliya’s lips continue their upward ascent, grazing Aly’s ear. Then - 

“Oh my god. He’s giving his speech now. I can’t even. Look at his smug face…”

“Aly.” The amused impatience in Aliya’s voice conveys a rare moment of indecision. Does she frown in frustration, or laugh, or…? _Seriously. This girl._

Aliya pulls Aly’s beautifully makeup-free face towards hers. She looks directly and understandingly into those liquid brown eyes that make her insides melt. “This not the end. There is always chance fight another day. In Russia, we say, ‘With no… torture… no good thing come.’” Aly takes in what she’s saying, then nods in agreement. She’s formulated a response, but the way Aliya masterfully slides herself onto Aly’s lap, knees straddling her on either side, makes it incredibly difficult to remember what it was.

“It is good you care much about your country…” Aliya can’t help releasing a teasing smirk, “even if country is America.” Before Aly can fit in a protest, Aliya leans in, her breath against exposed skin once more making Aly’s body tighten. “Now let me care for you.” 

Eyes widen when Aly feels an undeterred hand slip dangerously downwards, charting a course underneath, and in between… 

Aly’s strongly felt civic duty to express outrage at her nation’s controversial decision lessens considerably. 

For today.


End file.
